


more than skin

by brokentombstone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, POV Daenerys Targaryen, POV Outsider, Self-Reflection, season 8 AU, this is fully from D's perspective but is Jonsa centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentombstone/pseuds/brokentombstone
Summary: Later, when Daenerys has blood spilling from her mouth, it will all make a sick sort of sense.Or;Jon and Sansa encircle one another, Daenerys observes them.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 45
Kudos: 238





	more than skin

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags said, this is Daenerys' take on Jon and Sansa. It is AU, but all the events up to the end of Season 7 happened. Things diverge once they reach Winterfell in Season 8.

Later, when Daenerys has blood spilling from her mouth, it will all make a sick sort of sense.

But for the moment it only confuses her. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s losing and nothing has even happened. She had been so blissed out since Jon had come to her chambers and she chalked it up to paranoia, that she was getting distracted from her true goals, the thought of a treason for love hanging over her like a heavy shadow. 

And yet, even though she tries to push the feeling from her mind, she can’t deny that Jon has changed. Between their sheets he had been devoted, fulfilling, and wonderful lover, but outside he seemed deflated, or maybe even defeated. And it had worsened since they left the ship. She felt as if the ship had been a haven for the two of them, both of them forgetting their outside obligations and that as they had come closer to Winterfell, his duty was looming ever closer. 

And when they had arrived this morning it had only worsened. He felt more distant to her in the last few hours than he had when he first arrived at Dragonstone. At least then he had been angry, ferocious, a wolf baring his teeth and snarling at her on her throne. Now there was nothing, he felt void of emotion. Maybe not entirely though. And that was why, while she sat alone in her chambers, Jon nowhere to be found, she felt a dread creeping up. And she couldn’t help but replay the events that had happened since they had arrived. 

~~~

Jon had grown ever more quiet as they approached the castle. Reverting to a surliness that Daenerys had once found endearing and now found annoying. She had believed them to be past this. 

“Are you looking forward to returning home, Jon? You look miserable,” She had asked when the silence had become too much to bear. 

Jon had grimaced, “There will be many questions Daenerys. It is important that we do nothing to upset the North, we should strive to keep the peace here.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes, her words come out self assured, “I am the Queen. You were their King and you have bent the knee. The lords will understand. It is what is best for everyone.”

Jon just gazed ahead at the rapidly approaching castle. 

“You misunderstand. I speak not of the Lords. I refer to my sister Sansa, the Lady of Winterfell,” Jon says, still without any emotion. But the effort seems forced. 

Daenerys is curious but she bites her tongue for once, sensing Jon receding into the quiet corner of his mind. Jon had spoken little of his family during his stay in Dragonstone but she knew he loved them fiercely. She had inquired about the Starks, and having learned from Varys and Tyrion she understood a little. 

Ned Stark, their father, had been murdered by the Lannisters for exposing the incest of Jaime and Cersei. This had caused a war that resulted in his siblings Bran, Rickon, and Arya all going missing, the boys presumed dead and Arya likely as well. The war had ended with his brother Robb’s death and the rest of his sibling’s mother, Catelyn Stark, as well. Slaughtered under the guise of a guest right at a wedding no less. During all this, his last sister Sansa, had been held hostage at King’s Landing, smuggled out, only to be sold to the Bolton’s, a vicious lot from what she had been told, only to escape and help Jon in retaking Winterfell. Beyond that, apparently both Bran and Arya Stark had returned from the grave since Jon’s departure but there was no word on where their travels had taken them.

This story had left Daenerys with many, many questions. Jon had spoken once of Bran’s injury, the one that left him crippled, and he spoke of him fondly and looked forward to seeing him again. Arya was different, he spoke with her with all the love a big brother would have for his younger sister, once reminiscing when he didn’t realize she was listening at the door about helping her learn to shoot arrows. It was sweet and had made her smile, he was everything Viserys had never been. 

But Sansa. He never spoke of her. Not once in all their time together. At least not to Daenerys herself. She knew he was protective of her, Tyrion had said that much based on a conversation he had had when Jon first arrived. Daenerys had never brought the woman up directly, she sensed a tension there and after inquiring to Tyrion and Varys she thought that she understood the two of them as well. 

They had described Sansa as a timid but simple girl. One who wanted fancy things and to be taken care of, neither of them had seen her for years but Daenerys hardly imagined the woman’s later hardships changed this, it probably made her yearn for them more. 

She had also gathered from them that Sansa had been the only Stark child who hadn’t looked on Jon as a true brother. And this alone was enough to infuriate her. She couldn’t imagine how Jon had felt to finally have someone back from his family only to have it be his wretched sister who saw him as lesser. And then to have to return now and deal with her scorn when Jon had tried to protect the North for her. He seemed devoted to her for nothing in return. Daenerys admired this loyalty but she also hoped to convince Sansa to see sense, she sounded like the type of woman to be easily swayed, and she thought she may just be able to take her under her wing. It would be good to have her as a strong ally later when Jon comes South and she rules the North in full. 

So this is what Daenerys had thought when Jon spoke of being careful with Sansa. That Sansa would be quite upset by having her girlhood dreams of a free North and those of being a Princess ripped out from her when Jon bent the knee. She expected petty insults and catty comments, the weapons of a girl. She had been utterly unprepared for the woman she was actually faced with. 

They had arrived at Winterfell shortly and it seemed to all fall apart within moments. 

There, across the courtyard, stood a woman blazing as bright as a beacon, red hair blowing in the wind and standing in a beautiful black gown, clearly lined for winter and adorned with furs. Snow fell softly around her, landing in her hair and adorning her furs. Sansa Stark. She recognized the woman immediately, her hair an obvious marker. But she had not expected this. She had not been told, by Jon, or her advisors, that Sansa Stark was beautiful. 

And she was. She was stunning in a way that Daenerys had not been prepared to confront. Sure, Cersei had obviously been a beauty, she still was, but she was aging. Daenerys had clearly had the upper hand at the Dragonpit meeting. 

But it had been a long time since Daenerys could remember not being the prettiest woman, the one that every man’s head turned to, and that commanded the attention of all the women around her. But Sansa Stark. She could rival this, this power that Daenerys had taken for granted much too long. 

Sure, her beauty was different than Daenerys’ own, but striking in a different way. Where Daenerys was icy on the outside this woman was consumed in flames. 

Her red hair had elaborate braids but enough of it was loose that it continued blowing, gracefully, despite the ferocity of the gusts. Even from afar she could see that her eyes were a piercing blue, bright and shining. And her face was hard, a mask hiding any emotion. A skill that Daenerys had never quite mastered. 

And as Daenerys took this all in, she hadn’t even dismounted. She was taking in the woman so intently that when she was suddenly swept away Daenerys almost panicked, thinking them under attack. But in her shock she realized, Jon had dismounted, swept across the courtyard and enveloped his sister in a hug so intense that Daenerys felt herself hold her breath, waiting for it to end. She had to exhale before it did. 

She hadn’t believed Jon’s disrespect. She tried to rationalize it, that he was just excited to see his family after so long apart. But the longer they stood, wrapped up in each other, the more doubt that had seeped into her thoughts. Could this be the woman who thought him no more than a bastard? A lesser brother to be discarded? She couldn’t decipher what she was seeing. Wouldn’t the Sansa she had expected push her bastard brother away at first chance, extending a mere courtesy, especially knowing what he had done?

And it had not gotten any better. No it had gotten infinitely worse. 

Jon had finally released Sansa and beckoned Daenerys over for an introduction, when this was the first thing he should’ve been doing, not racing to Sansa and having Daenerys come to them. But she kept her tongue. 

And then Sansa had been all bite. She could see it immediately. And it was not petty or catty remarks. No, it had been coolly calculated and preplanned. She made it known that Daenerys was unwelcome here and had done it all while hiding under a veneer of courtesy. Even when Daenerys fumbled some compliment about Sansa’s beauty, (lying and saying Jon had told her this himself), the woman before her had not reacted. 

And that was when Daenerys knew. Whatever she was dealing with was more than a wounded dove. No, Sansa was a wolf in the flesh. 

~~~

Two weeks in Winterfell and she had seen Jon alone not but three times. First, when she had insisted on taking him for a dragon ride. Sharing this intimate part of her with him in hopes to return things to normal between them. But even that felt bitter, he had kissed her when they reached that waterfall but hadn’t touched her since and he had refused to take things further, even out there, all alone. She regretted sharing this part of herself with him and felt the cool sting of rejection she so hated. Then afterwards, there had been a heated argument after he sided with Sansa on letting Jaime Lannister join her war. Lastly, just two days ago when she had cornered him. Hot and wanting release, wanting him. Only to be rebuffed and told that they can’t do that here, that the Lords are everywhere and that they have to be careful. The cool sting of rejection had turned into a hot fury after that particular moment.

There was something else too, maybe more than one thing, a flicker of disgust deep in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and she didn’t understand what it meant. Had something happened?

But then as they had prepared for the Long Night she had had plenty of time to watch Jon, plenty of time to study him and his family. 

She watched him with Bran, with his brother who was so changed and seemed haunted by something none of the rest of them could see. Jon was distant there but watchful himself, seeking signs that the brother he once knew remained still. And she watched him with Arya, the good natured older brother who teased and poked at her, her giving as good as she got. Nobody could deny the love there.

But Sansa, Sansa was again different. It seemed as if Jon and Sansa were always on the verge of breaking out into a screaming match. Even when they were on the same page, when they had overruled her, the Queen, on Jaime Lannister, she could see that neither of them were pleased, could see that they had been mad at each other, holding back words that were clearly desperate to escape.

And when Theon Greyjoy had arrived, Daenerys had thought herself angry. She saw the way this man who had pledged himself to her was so willing and ready to give her up for the Lady of Winterfell. She had seethed in silent rage but when she looked across the room she saw Jon silently fuming as well, appearing near to intervening but restraining himself. It made no sense. She thought that him and Theon had resolved any lingering issues back on Dragonstone. 

Beyond this, Daenerys constantly saw them speaking in undertones to one another. Urgent and heated, as if they had an ongoing, never ceasing argument. Sometimes she would catch the end of it, before they saw someone notice them and she would hear a few clipped words, never enough to parse out any sort of meaning. But it was clear that the fight was not over that they would continue it at the next available opportunity. 

And lastly, similar to the above observation she had seen them disappearing down countless hallways and around corners, sneaking glances as if not to be followed. And while Daenerys often didn’t have the ability to follow them, the few times she tried they were gone too quick, years of knowing the castle working to their advantage. 

It plagued her. But she had decided to put it aside. It was clear Jon and Sansa were involved in some kind of war that only concerned the two of them, and that this was distracting Jon from attending to her, putting him on edge. It incensed her but she refused to intervene. She could only assume that Sansa was furious about Jon giving up his claim when he had been only a bastard to begin with. She had tried reaching out to Sansa, the first week there, but she had been met with only more ice. She had truly thought for a few moments that they could overcome their differences but Sansa had come back to the need for an independent North. She was unrelenting, this Stark woman, and she decided she would receive no further hand of kindness from Daenerys herself. If she was resolved to hate her, then so be it, even if she didn’t understand it. She didn’t like Sansa herself but why would she, the woman had been downright rude.

All of this changed though again, a few nights before they were ready for the Night King to arrive. They had all been working tirelessly in preparation and Sansa had announced that morning over breakfast that they would have the night off, one final night of celebration before the war, it would be a modest feast she assured everyone but there would be drink and dancing with music for all. She had said it was necessary to boost morale, and Daenerys was begrudgingly happy about it, she needed something to lift her spirits. 

The night had done anything but. 

She was a few drinks in, having fun and laughing with Missandei, Jon far from her mind (and body, he was sitting across the room from her as well), when the music began. It wasn’t anything familiar to her but Jorah took her out to the floor after a few songs, showed her a few Northern dances and she found herself laughing, feeling connected with these strange Northerners for the first time. 

Emboldened by her good mood and the ale that was flowing freely she had strolled over to Jon where he sat with his family and asked for him to dance. His eyes had widened slightly and much to her displeasure he saw him exchange the briefest glance with Sansa and her head nod almost imperceptibly.

“Okay Daenerys,” Jon said and rose. 

Her nostrils flared. How dare Sansa have this power over him, he hardly needed to ask permission. 

“You don’t need to check with her, you know. I am the Queen, Jon,” Daenerys strives to keep her voice light, desperate to make a joke but it comes out more like a condemnation. 

But Jon just looks at her with dead eyes, no light there. 

The dance is a fast paced Northern jig, but it is simple. Jon shows her the steps and she picks up on it quickly. However, she can tell the whole time that they move around the floor that his heart is not in it. The room has their eyes on them but there is no warmth there either. She is struck by the fact that they think she is stealing away their King, even now. And infuriatingly, there is Sansa, impassive and seemingly unbothered.

The dance finishes and Jon bows, returning to his seat. 

The rest of the evening continues to pass. Missandei and Grey Worm show some Northerners a dance from Naath, Jorah offers to take her up again but she is soured now, wanting to remain seated. She continues to drink ale and grows more surly, adopting Jon’s default mood, she thinks to herself. Not tonight though, as across the room Jon grows more boisterous. All four Starks are clearly enjoying themselves, each having enjoyed several drinks and loosening up, joking with each other and their people.

Daenerys resents them all. Mourns her own isolation. Her lack of family. She had taken strength in being the last dragon, but seeing them like that, a pack, it unhinges something inside her. She wants to cry, desperately. 

And then the music changes. Something quieter and slower. The mood changes in the room and several couples join the dance floor.

Jorah whispers to her that it is a traditional dance for those most important to us, but not necessarily romantic. An expression of pure love, devotion, in whatever form that takes. Despite this, it is mostly couples on the floor. Some parents with a child and a few younger siblings, but mostly Northern couples. 

And then there is a slight commotion because Daenerys realizes belatedly, Jon and Sansa are taking the floor. Her hand is in his and his hand sits lightly on her waist. It is completely innocent, nothing indecent, but Daenerys’ skin is burning, nobody else seems as bothered by it as she is. No, in general they revel in this display (the King and Queen they wish for she can’t help but think). 

The dance begins and Jon and Sansa light up the room. There seems to be sparks all around them, protecting the two of them from everyone there. And they seem completely unaware of anyone but each other. They both know the dance well and it allows them to float seamlessly in and around the other pairs, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. (Not in the way her and Jon did, there is no cold suspicion in their eyes). 

Daenerys watches them until completion. Neither of them ever spare her a glance. 

~~~

Daenerys really tries. She thinks she tries everything. To overlook the signs she’s seeing. Sansa is Jon’s sister but the longer she stays in Winterfell the more she senses something sinister. Sansa moves and Jon adjusts his posture, Sansa speaks and Jon tilts his head toward her, Sansa needs anything and Jon responds, it’s like they’re drawn to each other, two halves of a whole. 

And Sansa. Sansa behaves as if Daenerys isn’t even there. She seems to have perfected a stare that looks right through her. She never responds to anything Daenerys says during war council meetings. She gives the barest acknowledgements when required and nothing more. And the smugness! Somehow despite this frigidity Sansa moves with an air as if she has won. What game, Daenerys is unsure. But she thinks it is becoming clearer.

If Sansa is fucking her brother then Daenerys needs proof. (The words feel ugly, even inside the safety of her own mind). But no, not the honourable Starks. She goes through this cycle several times, fitting the pieces together, thinking there must be something she doesn’t understand, then talking herself down, that she must be crazy. That’s her family that has a history of marrying their siblings, not the Starks. Never the Starks.

But why has Jon still failed to come to her chambers, even when she has asked him directly. Even when she has shown him she understands discretion?

The eve of the Battle of Winterfell is when she gets her answer. 

She follows Jon to the crypts, finally seeing that he is separate from his family, from Sansa. At least for the time being. 

When she finds him in front of Ned Stark’s statue the conversation is nothing like she expects.

“You miss him?” Daenerys says and comes to lay a hand on Jon’s back.

Jon startles, realizes who it is and releases a breath, “Aye.”

“Your father was an honourable man, as are you. He would be proud of you now. Proud of you for bringing me here,” Daenerys tries to ease his mind.

Something in her words lands wrong though and she feels him tense. He remains silent for a long time and then peers not at Daenerys but into Ned Stark’s stony eyes.

“He’s not my father,” Jon says and shuts his eyes.

“What?” Daenerys asks, sure she has misheard him.

Jon moves from her, walks to a different statue. A woman. 

“Lyanna Stark,” Jon breathes out.

Daenerys follows him, unsure still, “The woman my brother Rhaegar, noble Rhaegar, kidnapped and raped?”

“We’ll never know if he raped her,” Jon turns to her then, “Rhaegar and Lyanna were wed, against her will or not. They had a son. A son my father died protecting years later. He knew that Robert would never let me live… I am your nephew Daenerys. Aegon Targaryen was the name they gave me.”

Daenerys stills. It can’t be true. But Jon wouldn’t lie, not about this? Unless it has all been a farce. A manipulation to get her here, to usurp her claim. She feels her expression twisting, her anger rising.

“If that were true, that would make you the last male heir to House Targaryen,” Daenerys grits out, pulling further away from Jon now. 

“Dany—” Jon reaches for her.

“I told you to never call me that,” Daenerys’ eyes are dangerous now, she’s on the brink… of something. 

And then it hits her. 

“Who knows of this?”

Jon hesitates, “Only my family.”

Jon’s honesty traps him once again. 

“Of course, Sansa…” Daenerys trails off, head still spinning but her anger still right there, in her reach and on the surface. 

“Sansa has nothing to do with this,” Jon says immediately and with unexpected force.

“You always rush to defend her,” Daenerys accuses now, “This sister who saw you as nothing but a bastard. Now she sees your potential for power. Oh, you are naive Jon Snow. You know nothing.”

Something flashes in his eyes at that, and Daenerys feels wicked now. Jon looks at her, seemingly warring with himself. 

“Daenerys. If you touch her—” Jon’s voice is low, dangerous. For a moment she thinks she missed this, at least she has elicited a reaction from him.

“You’ll what? Steal a dragon and burn me Jon? Was that your plan all along, sneak in and take a dragon for yourself? It takes more than a name to command my children,” Daenerys is shouting in earnest now, luckily the crypts are empty. 

Before Jon can respond though the war horns blast and she knows that they must go, that regardless of her anger now they will both ride dragons tonight, it is their only hope. The horn brings them back to that reality and she will deal with the rest of this later. They say no more and head up to the ground, together in their silence. 

It is only later, when Jorah is dying in her arms that the fact will strike her, untimely and cutting her grief deeper. Sansa Stark is no longer Jon Snow’s sister, and they have known this since he returned to the North. 

~~~

In the aftermath of the Long Night Daenerys is war torn and weary. She drags herself to the castle, unable to bring Jorah’s body with her. Her face is still stained with tears but they have won, they have accomplished the task that they set out to do and now she can rest. Rest. And set her sights on Cersei fully. She can mourn Jorah properly when she sits on the Iron Throne. 

The castle grounds are in chaos but it is a slow chaos. People crying, shouting, and counting their dead. Finding each other and those that they have lost. Daenerys goes unnoticed. Her clothes are dirty and torn, her hair a tangled mess and she just observes for a moment, the destruction. Despite everything, there is a part of her that relishes in that destruction, maybe she is sick (maybe she is only as much as her family’s legacy tells her she is, only finding hope in devastation). 

And then she hears the shouts. 

“Where is she! Where! Where is she?!” The voice takes a moment to connect but she realizes, with a reluctant relief that it is Jon. Her thoughts of their last conversation and her own revelation come bubbling up but his voice sounds half mad, deranged and broken. 

And for one sweet moment she believes he is calling for her. Searching for her in the mess of dead, believing her to have fallen off a dragon perhaps or slain out in the field. The desperation in his voice warms her, he is coming for her. 

But Jon rushes past her (not even recognizing his Queen), some twenty feet across the rubble that two dozen people mill about. His body has the posture of exhaustion but he is moving swiftly, past the point where his body would collapse and he is running on sheer need Then his words pierce her heart. 

“Where is Sansa! Has anyone seen her?”

And Daenerys sees the wildness in Jon’s eyes. Knows in that moment that whatever was between them is over, regardless of his relationship to Sansa, if it is innocent or not, she cares little because he has never shown this devotion to her and she doubts he ever will. 

“They’re still in the crypts, Your Grace,” someone shouts. 

And Jon is off like a bolt of lightning running full speed across the crumbling castle courtyard. And Daenerys doesn’t even have the energy to care about the treason of this random man addressing Jon as a King. She just wants to sleep. 

But she doesn’t find sleep. She slumps against a wall and sits to the ground, waiting for someone to find her and care for her as they would a child. Where are those loyal to her? How has nobody noticed their Queen is sitting amongst the ashes. 

It could be hours later but she suspects it is only a few minutes when Jon returns.

And with him is Sansa. Sansa is in Jon’s arms. He is carrying her under her shoulders and knees, his own body barely supporting her weight after the battle they have fought. And Daenerys realizes she is bleeding, she has been wounded and looks almost as rough as Daenerys feels. Yet, Daenerys notes that Sansa still looks poised, still holds her head as if someone might question her manners in such a time. And she is conscious.

Then Jon is yelling again.

“Get me a Maester! Someone help me! Sansa has been injured and she needs attention! Now!”

People are rushing over to him and she hears several people question what has happened. 

“The dead, in the crypts, they rose and Sansa led a charge against them. She’s been stabbed twice and is losing blood! We need help!” Jon pants this out while others rush to his aid.

Before he sets her feet down and lets the others help carry her he brings his forehead to hers, touching for the briefest of moments and whispering something. Daenerys can’t hear but she sees his lips moving. 

Then Sansa’s feet are on the ground and they are all whisking her away.

Daenerys remains in the rubble.

~~~

She is eager to leave Winterfell. To return South and face Cersei. In part because the Iron Throne is within sight and in part because she tires of Winterfell every second she remains. She tires of hearing of the Lady of Winterfell’s recovery. She tires of seeing her make a triumphant return at their victory feast. Celebrating and blatantly flirting with Jon while Daenerys herself sulks, excluded and hurt. She tires of witnessing them work as one, backing each other stronger than ever before. And she tires of the restlessness she feels every night in her rooms, unable to stop herself from wondering where Jon is. If he is with Sansa.

So she focuses on what she can control, their response to Cersei and how to get her off the Iron Throne. 

During the last war council though, after a particularly long and laborious struggle to convince Sansa and Jon to send the troops South. Because, yes, after Sansa’s recovery she no longer ignores Daenerys. She fights her tooth and nail to get her to let everyone rest but Daenerys won’t abide the delay and she wears them down. And after this final war council, she sees Jon and Sansa exchange a glance. 

And if Daenerys was wise, if she were able to discern things quicker, she would know with no uncertainty that it is a glance filled with passion, filled with lust and need. And she may have decided against following them, but then again, maybe she would have anyways. Fulfilling her sick need for certainty for confirming all she has guessed at over the last weeks. 

Jon and Sansa walk in silence, a foot of space between them and every so often checking that the coast is clear behind them, but Daenerys lurks in the shadows, she doesn’t wish to be seen and so she simply isn’t. They don’t speak the entire time.

They are clearly in a disused part of the castle, there are few torches here, she is swathed in darkness and when she suddenly hears Jon and Sansa’s footsteps die she halts as well, waits. And takes a few cautionary steps back down the hall, suddenly worried. She is alone. If they knew she was following they could overpower her now.

She waits a few minutes, standing there in silence straining her ears until she hears low noises. 

She turns the corner and takes a few steps forward, quiet and hesitant. She turns the last corner and realizes it is a dead end. There is an alcove on the right wall and a torch on the left, burning low and then she sees them. 

Sansa, back pressed up against the brick wall. Her breasts are spilling out of her dress and Jon’s mouth is on her nipple. Her dress is hitched up around her waist and Daenerys realizes that Jon is rutting inside her. His own trousers pulled halfway down to his knees. Sansa’s eyes are closed in pleasure and her back arches off the wall as she lets out a low gasp of air. 

“Jon, please,” She whimpers.

Jon removes his mouth from her nipple and brings it to Sansa’s mouth kissing her hard and placing both his hands on the wall beside her head, pushing into her harder and faster now. 

He breaks the kiss and gasps, “So good Sansa, you’re so good for me.”

And then Daenerys is gone. She is receding so fast she thinks she will lose her way. Her body feels cold and her eyes prick with tears. Seeing Jon like that, so uninhibited and seeing Sansa, Sansa of all people writhing under his touch. It sickened her. 

She makes it back to her chambers, mercifully unseen and collapses on her bed. Crying in earnest now. 

And her thoughts race. She can only wish that she had never fucked Jon Snow, worse, that she had dared to fall in love with him. She gasps at this, starts crying harder, angry now. Her treason for love. Oh, she has been an idiot, it’s been her own fault, for not being careful, for not seeing this sooner. 

And then she’s recalling how happy she was. How she thought that she had it all when Jon was with her on Dragonstone, when she thought he was falling in love with her. The connection she felt instantly. She had never needed saving but she thought Jon could save her, could help her achieve all her goals and give her love in the same breath. 

But that had all been a lie. It had been Sansa all along. 

And Daenerys loses herself in the memory of Jon coming to her door on the boat. But even that has turned bitter.. She had been exhilarated. Thinking that he was finally there, finally giving into the desire they had both obviously felt. But she was wrong about that too. Had she romanticized every moment the two shared? Had she imagined the love in his eyes? He had been so hesitant and she thought him nervous, but she had to practically disrobe entirely to entice him to the bed and then had his motions been perfunctory? She had remembered the sex as other worldly, as pleasurable and satisfying, after waiting so long. But seeing him with Sansa tonight made her think they had been sterile, two bodies. Merely skin touching skin. 

And even after all she had observed here she had been hopeful. The truth had been in front of her all along. Jon loved Sansa, he loved his sister. Cousin. It didn’t matter now, it hadn’t mattered then, not to him. He had never loved her, that much was clear. 

Daenerys shuts her eyes tightly then. Still crying, and hopes that sleep will bring her the peace she seeks. 

~~~

She had it all. For a few hours. She had Westeros in her hands. But that was gone, she would never even sit on the Iron Throne. These were the thoughts that rushed into her as Jon slid his sword into her chest. She can’t even speak for the pain.

All those years of trying, fighting, and suffering. To end here, mere feet from her throne, from her life’s ambition. Well there was a disgusting beauty in that she supposed.

She knows she has less than a minute now. 

“I never loved you Daenerys. I’m sorry that it came to this,” Jon peers down at her, eyes empty of any emotion. She thinks that this is the first time he has stared at her from this angle since their night on the boat. But he will peer down at Sansa like this for years to come, she knows that now. 

“I wish—” Daenerys can’t breathe now and blood is getting stuck in her throat, spilling out her mouth, “I wish—”

She doesn’t get that last thought out but as the last dragon fades into unconsciousness and to her death all she can think is that she wishes Jon Snow had never knocked on her door.

**Author's Note:**

> So. That was a lot haha. I know that the end happened quickly but the fic had served its purpose and I was less interested in the specifics to get Daenerys killed, so in my mind events proceed similarily to canon, but Jon and Sansa both come South, Dany burns KL still and Jon kills her, but without hesitation.
> 
> This fic came to me this week when I heard the song "Guest Room" by Echos. The song does not fit the Dany-Jon-Sansa triangle perfectly but there were so many bits that made me think "this is exactly what would go through Daenerys' mind". Examples:
> 
> "I guess that I'm better off alone"  
> "Everytime I hear your name, I replay your fingertips on my frame and I lose faith"  
> "Wish that I had never let you love me, although you said you never did"  
> "I'm pretty sure all of this was my fault, I'm the one who kissed you first and took my clothes off"  
> "I thought that I'd mean something to you, more than skin to put your skin on"
> 
> So yeah, this song has basically consumed my life because of the implications and I had to write this fic before I lost my mind. I highly recommend listening to it to get into my headspace of writing this. 
> 
> The fic itself is pretty simple, I obviously take liberties, tweaking and elaborating on boatsex and then just changing season 8 altogether, but I think Daenerys' underlying EMOTIONS would be similar to this even in canon, just her thoughts different obviously. 
> 
> This is a long note but one last thing, I love outsider POV fics when it comes to Jonsa and have read some amazing ones over the years (My faves being those that take Dany's or Arya's POV) so thank you to any writer who I have read a fic like this of, you paved the way for me!
> 
> Leave a comment and let us discuss this if you enjoyed :)


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